


KEEPING CLEAN

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Mech/Mech, Sad Fluff, Teasing, shameless fluff, some light tactile and field play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 17:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet and Drift take a bubble bath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	KEEPING CLEAN

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bribe for mapalie. Hope it pleases the palate.

Drift squawks as he is snatched up by the back of his neck and dragged onto the ship.  He gives Ratchet a dirty look but doesn’t vocally protest as he is escorted along like a misbehaving youngling.  He gets his peds under him as they hit the top of the boarding ramp.  He straightens and shakes off Ratchet.

There is silence for a moment as he is regarded with a quiet and intense study.  Blue optics glide over his frame from helm to ped.  Drift twitches a bit, suddenly feeling very conscious of all the dirt and other grunge coating his frame.  He puffs out his armor a bit to look intimidating but only earns a snort and small grin from the medic for his effort to look tough.  He watches as Ratchet shakes his helm and closes the door behind them.

“Come on, Drift.”  Ratchet walks toward the small cockpit of the deep-space faring vessel.  “I wanna get off the Galactic Council's world asap.  So strap in.”

Drift complies and settles in.  Ratchet pulls away under the watchful eyes of the GC Guards.  Soon stardust and void surround them, and Ratchet huffs a sigh of relief.  Drift twitches but keeps his optics on the instrument panels as Ratchet turns to give Drift a closer look over again.

He congratulates himself on not visibly flinching when Ratchet stands and moves closer.  He keenly remembers all the grilling hygiene talks the Lost Light’s crew had gotten when they all stumbled back from a few of the “ridiculous play” outings as Ratchet had called them.  Drift clears his vents and turns to look at the looming medic.  Drift’s optics cycle out at the playful smile that tugs at a corner of Ratchet’s mouth.  He stares at the red hand reaching out to him too.

“Come on, Drift.  Let’s go wash this grime off.”

Drift hesitantly touches Ratchet’s digits.  Internally he has to run a quadruple check that he’s not running a recharge cycle.  He starts when Ratchet slides his hand under Drift’s tentative one and tugs upward.

“Y-yeah.”  He looks down at Ratchet with a small nervous smile of his own.  He follows behind trying to calm and contain his spark.  A traitorous spark that is suddenly triggering recharging purges of Ratchet moaning beneath his digits and of strained vocalizations glitching over Drift’s designation with Ratchet’s timber and tonal plays.

_ What the frag, mech?!  Just chill. _

He shifts when he feels Ratchet thread their digits about each other.  Drift subtly extends his field and catches a fleeting nervousness in Ratchet’s otherwise determination filled field.  The swordsmech wasn’t sure what had gotten into the medic, but he sure as Primus kinda liked it, if that pleased rumble from his engine was any indication.  Drift decided to go with it.

===

Ratchet pulls Drift into the wash room.  His spark beginning to swirl with trepidation now that his initial bluster of bravado had cooled.  He lets go of Drift’s hand to fiddle with the sprayer controls.  They had some scrubbing off to do before they got to what Ratchet was planning.  He gasps in shock when cold water hits his midsection.  A burning blush already blazing across his cheeks.  He dips his helm with a heavy exvent when he feels a hand settle on his dorsal plating.  A somewhat calm field sweeps over his growing erratic one.

His helm comes up when digits brush at a blazing cheek, and lips tentatively brush the back of his helm.  The hand on his dorsal plating slips around his hip to press into the medallion on his midsection, making him shiver.  Ratchet leans slightly back into Drift.  He hears Drift pull in a few shaky long steading vents.  Ratchet shutters his optics and reaches for the warming sprayer head.

When both fields pulse steadily against each other, Ratchet feels Drift release him and pull back.  Ratchet stands on his own again to allow Drift to pull away completely.  He keeps his optics focused on the flow of water from the sprayer and rising steam.  The soft clicks of weapons being removed from a frame fill the space with the sound of running water.  Ratchet dares a glance over his shoulder at Drift.  The playful smile tugs at the corner of Ratchet’s lips again.  Drift looks a bit stiff around his shoulders and upper back even if the swordsmech was trying to project an aura of calm.

“So where do you want me, Ratchet?”

Ratchet notices that Drift isn’t looking at him directly so much as sneaking small peeks from the side of his optics before dipping them to focus on his peds.  Ratchet doesn’t try to stop the chuckle that escapes him.  He smiles at Drift as their optics fully meet.

“Guess we’re both nervous, huh, kid?”

Ratchet steps back and motion to the ground in front of him.  “I want you where I can touch you.”  He looks to the side when he notices Drift’s optics widening.  “We gotta get the worst of the grime off,” he hedges, “and it’ll go quicker if we help each other.”   _ Slag this blush to the pits, _ Ratchet dips his helm again.  “Plus I’ll be able to make sure you’re clean and not doing a half-afted job of it like some mech would.”

Ratchet keeps the main focus of his gaze on the sprayer head in his left hand.  Drift remain where he is so after a moment Ratchet flicks a quick glance his way.  Drift’s darkening and lightening optics draw his full gaze.  Ratchet tentatively extends his field and tries to make it calm and inviting.  He starts when a warm blooms over Drift’s face.

He has to stop himself from stepping back as Drift finally moves forward, still beaming like he had heard the best thing in the universe.  Ratchet would be slagged to the Pit and dance with Unicron before giving into the small line of nervous code trying to make itself known to his consciousness.

He kneels behind Drift and runs the water over grungy white-red plating.  Ratchet a scrub brush from his subspace while triggering a cleaning solvent to be added to the water.  He begins to rub lightly at Drift’s relaxing shoulders.  Warmth and comfort fills his field as Ratchet is able to take care of another mech, like it always did when he could help to make someone feel whole again.

Ratchet catches himself placing lingering strokes over Drift’s plating.  The blush back on his cheeks as he tries to make the strokes somewhat more professional, despite the clearly open invitation he feels curling through Drift’s field the comfort and trust.   _ Not yet, _ he scolds himself.   _ Make sure he’s taken care of first.  That he’s safe and sound, whole and hail. _

Ratchet feels a tremble run through his systems at that thought.  The sprayer nozzle and scrub brush drops from his limp digits.  He reaches shaking hands toward Drift.  He snaps his optical shutters shut as he gives in to the burning need and falls forward to press his crest into the middle of Drift’s back.  He feels Drift still beneath him.  His digits find white shoulders and cling to the solid frame.  Ratchet can’t stop the quiet sobs from escaping him.

He ties to beat all his emotions back, like he had always been able to do since this slagging war had began, but…  But Ratchet finds himself clinging desperately to Drift.  The swordsmech acting like an anchor for the medic as he pinwheels through these unwanted negative emotions.

Ratchet feels a hand come up to stroke his.  He focuses on that sensation to drive away the flashing images running through his processor.  Images of their latest adventure and brush with death, all the other times they had faced death together.  The white snow of Messatine fills his vision before strong arms surround him, and he feels a warm frame pressing against him.

His vision clears and looking up at Drift, finding himself in the other mech’s lap.  Ratchet dips his helm in sudden shyness that doesn’t fit a mech of his age.  He looks at his red digits splayed on Drift’s chest.  The white armour still marred where the Autobot brand had been ripped off.  Ratchet strokes over the spot, not looking up at Drift.  Just running his digits over the long healed physical hurt.  He looks up at Drift to apologize, but lips find his.  They are firm enough to still his voice but light enough to entice and whisper that they were not a dream.

Ratchet bites his lower lip when Drift pulls away.  There is a lingering sadness crawling its way through both of their fields, but there is also a splinter of happiness beginning to replace that sadness.  Ratchet watches as Drift lowers his helm and draws in several vents.

“I’m here now, Ratchet.  That,” a quiver runs through a white frame before settling into a steel firmness echoes in blue optics, “that’s what matters.  I’m here with one who is important to me.”

Warmth spills from Ratchet’s spark as he feels Drift’s hand settle over his chest.  He lifts red digits to rest them over Drift’s.  Ratchet strokes the back of Drift’s dark hand.

“You know, a year ago I’d have walloped you over your helm for saying so...so.”  Ratchet lifts his optics to Drift’s and returns the beaming smile.  He shakes his helm and leans forward so they knock helms, earning him a chuckle from Drift.  “Yeah.  I’m here with my someone special too, Drift.”

===

Drift teasingly taps his digits against the metal of the tub, watching his medic shift under his stare.  Ratchet did make such an alluring and adorable picture there surrounded by bubbles.  Drift leans his helm against his hand and continues to student Ratchet who has turned his helm away to hide the light stain of red dancing its way across his cheeks.

There was an exasperated bluster in Ratchet’s field as Drift purposefully tickles his field against Ratchet’s teasingly.  He tilts his helm and winks at the glare that is leveled at him.

 

“You’d think you’ve never been given a bubble bath before,” Drift says lightly.

Drift takes mercy on Ratchet and reaches into the tub to pick up the washcloth that Ratchet had dropped there.  Having a pinch of mischief settle in him, Drift “accidentally” rubs his hands along Ratchet’s inner thigh.  He grins like a turbo fox who stole the last box of energon goodies as Ratchet cover the burst of static with a too loud growl of his engine.  Drift chuckles and draws his hand and the washcloth slowly back up Ratchet’s thigh.

He teasingly strokes the fabric over one of Ratchet’s knees before pulling the cloth fully from the water.  His optics keenly watching Ratchet shift and try hard not rub the trail of strokes Drift had just left on his plating.  Drift cups the washcloth in his hand, letting the water dribble through his digits.  His optics tavel up Ratchet’s frame as Ratchet reaches up to rest his hand on Drift’s wrist.

“You gonna just sit there and enjoy the view?”

Ratchet doesn’t dip his helm to hide the small bright stain on his cheeks.  And his small alluring smile warms Drift’s spark and frame in all sorts of wonderful ways.

“You’re right, Ratch,” Drift husks and stands, lifting one ped to sink into the bath water.  The other ped quickly follows the first as Drift settles between Ratchet’s spread knees.  He leans himself against Ratchet’s wide chest.  One hand rubbing softly at the glass there while the one with the washcloth rubs small circles over another section of the glass.

Both mechs smile at the other.  Drift leans forward so his exvents mingle with Ratchet’s.  Their optics trace the line other the other before meeting and brightening.  Drift smiles as Ratchet reaches up to stroke the side of face.

“Let’s see about getting you sparkly clean.”


End file.
